Waiting for the Stars
by victory.x
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed. She opened her window for the boy made of stars, and the boy took hold of her heart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, whassup my peeps! It's been a while, and this time, I'm not writing an HP story, but PETER FREAKING PAN! Y'all are excited, I know. Anyway, this chapter was heavily inspired by the song _Lost Boy_ , by Ruth B. It's incredible. Each chapter will have a few lyrics from the song before it. Also, I have just loved Peter all my life. I'm still waiting for him at my window.**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither the song _Lost Boy_ nor the story of Peter Pan. However, thank you to the people who actually _do_ own them. To Ruth B., and to J.M. Barrie, who wrote the most beautiful story of all time.**

 **Random fact: I also posted this on my Wattpad account, which I'm seriously inactive in. It's SoundOfVictory, for all you noobs who don't know. Go follow me.**

 **Also... review? :D**

* * *

 _There was a time when I was alone_

 _Nowhere to go and no place to call home_

 _My only friend was the man in the moon_

 _Even sometimes he would go away too_

* * *

A lot of us are waiting.

There is no such particular wait that all human beings share, except in one, one wait that most could not possibly dream of.

Grown-ups would dismiss it as preposterous, and children would blush and stutter, _wanting_ to believe, _wishing_ to believe, but they simply _cannot_ , for the idea is, quite frankly, _preposterous_.

And that, is where everyone is wrong.

Anyway, the wait is always long. Waiting is such a lengthy affair, and most of us do it every day.

On a cold day in April, one such waiting woman stood out alone in the rain, waiting for the bus.

She clambered aboard the first shuttle, shivering and dripping, her numb fingers clutching her bag. A kindly old woman allowed her to sit next to her, and she nodded off into peaceful slumber.

She awoke a few minutes before her stop, and when she did get off, she thanked the old woman.

Her house was a large one, the kind of house you read about in storybooks. It was old, and crumbling and beautiful, with intricate designs looping over the roof and windows, and there was one particular window decorated with stars.

Briskly, she hurried homeward, her heeled boots with peeling paint clopping on the cobblestone path. She jammed her silver key into the lock of the front door, and pushed it open.

She removed her boots and coat first, and then her cap and gloves, pressing the key back into her bag. She hung the coat on the stand, and hurried upstairs.

A thin, tall woman stood in the doorway, looking at her crossly. "You're late," she said primly.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, the rain was terrible this evening and—" she took a breath. "May I see her?"

The thin woman's frown deepened, but she moved aside, and there it was, a soft pink crib, and inside, a soft pink child.

The woman released a sigh of real relief, and gazed upon the child in an expression of such love, such devotion, it was madness that the child did not wake.

"Alright, you can go home." said the woman, turning to her child's nanny with a handful of pound notes, pressing them into the older woman's hand. "Thank you."

The nanny sniffed and left, muttering something about lateness accounting for an extra pound or so.

The woman took the child in her arms and sat upon an old rocking chair, a chair that used to belong to her grandmother.

"My dear little Cara," said the woman, rocking the child. "I do hope that Miss Leanne wasn't so frightful today."

The child yawned and woke, gazing up at her mother.

"Did you know," said the woman, clutching the child closer to her. "That this rocking chair belonged to your great-grandmother? Her name was Wendy Darling, and she was the first."

The child looked up at her mother questioningly.

"The first of what, you ask? Well, the first to go to Neverland, of course."

Cara brightened with interest, no matter how many times her mother had told her the story.

"Yes, Neverland was a lovely place, but there was one thing lovelier than Neverland, and that was Peter Pan. He brought Wendy to Neverland. Peter's the only boy in the world that won't grow up, never. He's the only free soul in the universe."

The woman carried Cara over to the window. Coincidentally, it was the window decorated with stars.

"Yes, here at this window, Peter took Wendy's hand, and they soared into the night with her brothers, John and Michael. That is why we must keep this window open, always, for Peter. The Darlings will never turn him away."

"Yes, Wendy was the first." said the woman after a pause, staring out wistfully into the night.

"And then there was Jane. Jane was _my_ mother, you see, and by then, Peter had forgotten all about Wendy. He really was a forgetful boy. He had lived so long that not many things mattered to him at all. Anyway, he suddenly remembered Wendy, but when he returned for her, it was too late. Wendy had grown up and remarried, and had had a child. The child's name was Jane."

Cara put her finger in her mouth and gazed out the window also, as if hoping to glimpse Peter's shadow against the dark sky.

"Jane went also, with Peter, and they too had grand adventures. But soon enough, Jane grew homesick and Peter returned her home. He forgot about her also, and the Darlings simply faded from his mind and into nothingness, the very same nothingness that orbited Mermaid Lagoon."

The woman looked sadly at the sky.

"Yes, Wendy was the first, and Jane was the last. I never went to Neverland, my sweet. And you won't either. Peter Pan has forgotten, and all we are are memories."

Cara cooed sadly, staring up at her mother. The woman sighed, and set the baby back into her soft pink crib, gently rocking the sides.

"Go to sleep, my dear. Tomorrow will be a long day."

And the woman began to sing. It was the saddest, prettiest lullaby, a melody passed down from generation to generation. A Darling tradition. Some said it was the song of the sirens of Mermaid Lagoon, and other claimed it to be what the stars sang when the night ended.

Cara's eyes began to droop, and when her mother deemed her asleep, her voice trailed off, and she left the room, back to her own. Hers, with an empty bed and cold sheets.

But Cara was not yet slumbering, but awake.

She looked about her sleepily, her small fingers grasping her covers.

And in the darkness, she saw a slight figure, one with hair of gold and clothes of skeleton leaves, leaning against the windowsill, the curtains billowing around his feet.

He smiled at her, and oh, what a beautiful smile it was! That very smile threatened to take over Cara's being and lift her straight to the sunrise, dipping her in colors that she'd never seen.

He put a finger to his lips, and pulled out a pan flute of foreign wood. It smelled of honey and of sunshine, of a place that Cara's young heart yearned for.

And softly, he began to play.

It was the same song that Cara's mother had sang, but somehow, it was different. It was a melody that washed away the loneliness in Cara's room, a melody that cured her mother's tears, and brought warmth to her hands. It was a melody that stretched far into the city and kissed away pain. It was a melody that awoke in all the people the Wait, the bitterness of waiting for a boy who would never grow up. It was a melody that spoke of Peter Pan's forgetfulness, of the joy and innocence that would last forever in his eyes. It was a melody of a better day, and Cara could see clear blue waters and golden sands, mermaids and fairies and pirates.

And slowly, she drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter TWOOOOOO HOLLA! Okay, for full experience, listen to the song Peter Pan by Nicole Zefanya whilst reading. _If_ you can concentrate and listen and read at the same time. Only _if_. If you can't, don't do it. I'm selfish and would rather you read my story.**

 **REVIEW!**

* * *

 _Then one night, as I closed my eyes_

 _I saw a shadow flying high_

 _He came to me with the sweetest smile_

 _Told me he wanted to talk for a while_

 _He said_

 _Peter Pan_

 _That's what they call me_

 _I promise that you'll never be lonely_

* * *

Margaret Darling, for she, like the other Darling women, had kept her maiden name, firmly secured a red scarf about her daughter Cara's neck.

Cara had grown to be a lionhearted girl of five years, with a pretty, heart-shaped face, and the customary Darling kiss on the corner of her mouth. She had wild, unruly dark curly tresses, hair like her father's, her mother would say fondly, and eyes like honeyed gold. They were bright and intelligent; and one could not simply look into them and then forget about them.

"But I don't _want_ to go to school, Mama," said Cara, pouting.

Her mother looked at her sternly. Margaret Darling was still a beautiful woman, but she had streaks of gray in her hair and wrinkles near her eyes. In her eyes was the deepest of sadnesses, one acquired from the death of her husband only a month after Cara was born.

"Cara, you must go to school. How else are you to ever learn?"

"Can't I just come to work with you, instead?"

Her mother laughed. "And grow up so quickly? Goodness, what ever would Peter Pan think?"

Cara scowled. "It's not _growing_ _up_ ," she insisted. "Peter never wanted to go to school either!"

"Now, why don't you pay as much attention to your maths as you do to my stories?" said Margaret in amusement. "Now, come along, you shan't be late."

So Cara _did_ end up going to school, wearing a frown and a resigned expression.

Now, Cara Darling was not weak nor lazy, but had very different reasons for wishing to skip school. It was not that she disliked learning, but that she disliked her classmates.

Moreover, her classmates disliked _her_ very much, and they weren't the kindest students either.

She hung up her coat and scarf up on the rails, and dragged her feet into her classroom, mentally preparing herself for her horrid day.

"Good morning, Miss Darling," said her teacher, looking down at her sternly. "Hello," replied Cara half-heartedly, going and sitting down at her seat.

They learned maths and science, and then it was time for lunch and recess.

Cara had always been a fast eater, so she went and sat upon the swings, swinging back and forth and back and forth. Slowly, she began to smile, just as she went higher and higher. It was almost as if she was flying.

The sky looked so near to her that she could reach out and touch it, and maybe grasp hold of the tail of Neverland island. At this revelation, her eyes brightened, and stared up at the sky, wondering if she looked hard enough she would find it. Her eyes darted across the blue, taking in the clouds and sunshine, and she wished it was night. Maybe then, Peter would come and be her friend. No one else really wanted to.

"Hey, everybody, look! It's Cara Darling!"

Cara squeezed her eyes shut. Freedom was only temporary.

Her horrid classmates started lobbing rocks at her, calling her ugly and liar and all sorts of terrible things you should never say to a child.

She crashed to the ground, praying for them to stop, for the day to be over.

See, it had all started when she first started going to school.

Cara was already rather strange, having only a mother and no father. The other children whispered about her behind her back, and it only got worse when Cara started telling them about Peter Pan, desperate to make friends.

She was a different kind of girl, too. Instead of playing princesses and fairies, she wanted to swordfight and play pirates. She wasn't afraid of the big slide in the playground, or the swings, or getting dirty. She wasn't afraid of _anything_. She didn't brush her hair, she never wore dresses, and she yelled and screamed and wrestled with the boys.

She was different.

Cara quickly got up and started to run, the other students chasing after her and throwing things. Oh, how she wished she never tried to make friends. Friends were overrated, anyway.

She hid behind a huge oak tree, sitting on the grass and hugging her knees to her chest, breathing hard. She waited, her heart beating so loud she was sure it would give her away.

But it didn't, and the children left. All she was was a funny pastime, something to make them laugh.

Cara picked up a stick from the base of the tree and hastily scrawled a note into the dirt.

 _Dear Peter Pan_ , it said.

 _Please don't leave me alone anymore._

She took up a dandelion weed and gently blew the fluff over the scratched letters, pretending the seeds were strands of pixie dust, ready to float her message up to the heavens.

She stayed there for the rest of recess.

* * *

"How was school, Cara?" asked her mother kindly, unaware of her daughter's turmoil.

"Fine." Cara replied curtly. "I'm going to bed."

Margaret blinked. "Oh. Oh, alright."

Cara ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door behind her, throwing herself to her window and trying to hold back the sobs she had held back for so long.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she gazed up at the sky, filled with a longing so deep and profound it echoed through her bones and reverberated through her soul.

"Oh, Peter Pan," she said softly. "The boy who forgot."

Heavily, she changed from her uniform to her nightgown, and crawled into her covers, feeling cold on a summer night. She shivered, pulling the covers around her.

And when her eyes had almost closed, and dreams were about to take over her mind and relieve her of her memories, a shadow, sat on the windowsill. Cara's eyelids were suddenly seized with a terrible tiredness, and she yawned.

" _I never forgot_."

She smiled sleepily for a second, and then her eyes closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I adore this chapter. It makes me feel a lot of feels, and I _wrote_ it. For full experience, listen to the actual song Lost Boy by Ruth B. While reading. Once again, if you can't concentrate, TURN DAT MUSIC OFF AND READ THE STORY INSTEAD.**

 **Review?**

* * *

 _I am a lost boy from Neverland_

 _Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_

 _And when we're bored we play in the woods_

 _Always on the run from Captain Hook_

* * *

"Did you see Peter Pan this morning, freak?" said a girl, one with pretty gold hair, much like Peter's. Cara glanced at it before answering.

"I only see him at night," she replied calmly, turning away from the girl to collect her belongings.

The girl and her friends shrieked with laughter. "Did you hear that?" they screeched. "A grown up girl— believing in fairies and a boy who can fly!"

Cara whipped around furiously. "I haven't _grown up!_ " she snarled venomously, and the girls were struck silent.

The quiet went on for a blissfully long time until a boy said, "Well, obviously not," and the girls started up again. Cara didn't understand what was so funny.

She saw Peter in her dreams, a beautiful boy with eyes like diamond and a smile like the morning. If she couldn't find anything else good in her day, she'd focus on the smile she saw in her sleep. The smile she loved.

She put her things into her bag and hurried onto the bus home.

She stared out the window most times, and today was one of those times. She stared forcefully up at the sun, wondering if it outshone the one in Neverland. Then she scowled at it. All she thought about was Neverland. That was why she was so _alone_.

She quickly got off the bus and started the long trek home, her house being one of the farthest ones away from the village. The ones that had used to be around it, during her great-grandmother's time, had been torn down. No one lived in them anymore. No one, it seemed, but her.

The door was unlocked, as usual. Her mother never thought anyone would try to rob the old house, since it really had nothing of value. Nothing, her mother would say with a shining smile, but Cara herself.

"Mother?" Cara called out. "I'm home!"

No answer.

Cara looked confusedly at the top of the stairs, dropping her bag near the dining table. "Mum?"

She went upstairs, her heart beating unusually fast. Her mother was always home around this time.

Gently, she pushed open the door to her mother's bedroom, only to see Miss Leanne, her horrid old nanny, sitting by her mother's bed.

Her mother herself was asleep, looking like an angel. She always looked so pretty when she slept; away from her sadness and worries. She may have been dreaming of Neverland too.

Cara felt herself exhale a sigh of relief. "Miss Leanne." she said respectfully, nodding her head in the woman's direction. She scowled back at her. "Child," said Miss Leanne. "come with me."

Cara obediently followed the old woman out into the hallway, far from her mother's room.

"Your mother is sick." said Miss Leanne suddenly.

Cara blinked. "Well, I'd expect so, she's in bed after all. Do you recommend chicken soup? Shall I stay home to take care of her?"

Miss Leanne gave her an exasperated look. "No, no, not that kind of sickness. Very sick. So sick she may die."

Cara felt something inside her twist, clenching her stomach, and she fought to swallow. "What do you mean?" she asked harshly, as if blaming Miss Leanne.

"I _mean_ , that she must be taken to the hospital." Miss Leanne ground out. "And you are not old enough to take her. You do not have any money, nor family. You are alone."

 _Alone?_ How dare she call Cara alone! She was not alone, and her mother would not die. "I-I can take care of her. I have no need for school, for I have all my books at home. I will learn here, and take care of her."

Miss Leanne glared at her. "You know nothing! This is no mere disease for a child to combat with _chicken soup_! This is something that must be dealt with, and quickly."

Death. There it was again, that unspoken, inevitable word. The word that Peter Pan was free from, the only joyous soul in the universe.

Cara felt her heart cry out, and she took a sharp breath, needing air, needing starlight.

"She won't," she managed to get out bravely. "She can't die."

"If she is not to go to the hospital, she will." said Miss Leanne firmly. "And when she does, you will have nowhere to go. You have no living relatives or family. What will you do, Miss Darling? Where will you run to?"

"I shan't run at all!" Cara burst out. "I won't run, I'm not afraid! I can take care of myself!"

"For goodness sake, child, don't shout!" hissed Miss Leanne. "You'll wake your mother!"

Cara stared at her nanny, willing herself not to cry.

"Fine," she whispered. "I don't know. I don't know what I will do."

Miss Leanne frowned deeply. "Well, I will tell you what you must do. First, you will sell this hou—"

"Never." Cara stared Miss Leanne straight in the face. "I will never, ever, _ever_ sell this house, no matter what you say will happen to me. I will _not_ sell this house, and I will _not_ sell any of our belongings. These are my things, this is the Darling home."

"How else will you pay for your mother's treatment?" snarled Miss Leanne. "I try to help, but you're just as stubborn as your mother and grandmother! They never listened to reason! Always going on about an island in the stars, never having any sense!"

"And neither will I!" shouted Cara.

The two glared at each other, panting.

"Cara?"

Both their heads whipped towards the bedroom door. Her mother's voice was tired, _too_ tired.

Cara gave Miss Leanne a final angry stare, then hurried to her mother. "Yes?" she asked quietly, not allowing her emotions to show upon her face.

Margaret Darling yawned. "What—are you fighting with Miss Leanne about?"

Cara's face fell.

"Mother," she said instead. "Are you sick?"

Her mother's face fell as well. She said nothing.

"How could you get sick so fast?" asked Cara desperately. "That doesn't happen, never!"

"Cara," her mother said quietly. "I want you to understand something."

Cara looked at the ground. Miss Leanne stood by the doorway, wearing a hard expression, her back as straight as a rod.

"This is not an easy disease," Margaret said carefully. "Truly, it's quite the opposite. If I—" She bit her lip. "—am _unable_ to take care of you, Miss Leanne will take you into her house." She took a shaky breath. "You must do what she says."

Cara's jaw dropped, looking over at the old woman, who looked at her with an empty expression. Empty of love, of compassion. So different from the only person who loved her in the whole world.

Her mother looked at her warningly.

Cara shook her head over and over, wishing she'd wake up from this terrible, horrible _nightmare_. "You _can't_ —" she breathed sharply, and ran.

 _No no no no no_ , her mind repeated, as she raced into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, breathing hard. She couldn't run away from her problems, she knew, but she could try. She locked the door behind her and sunk to the ground, covering her face with her hands in an effort to hold back the tears.

When she'd cried her fill, she looked up at the inky black sky, dotted with stars.

"Peter," she whispered, hurrying to the window. "Peter, I know you're there."

One of the stars twinkled at her, as if to laugh.

"Peter, my mother is dying. Please, I cannot stay here anymore." Cara begged desperately. "Please take me with you. I'll do anything, I swear to you."

She waited, her tearstained eyes darting across the sky. But no one appeared. There was no boy with a beautiful smile.

She sank to her knees again, and again started to cry. She cried because of her mother, she cried because of herself. She cried because of her horrid, horrid life, because of the students who teased her at school. She cried, because it was stupid to believe in a boy made of stars. "I should never, never have believed in him." she said, a flare of anger and pain bursting in her chest.

When she looked up again, she saw something. Something so quick and wonderful, she could've missed it, except she didn't.

It was the shadow of a lean boy, with curly hair and clothes made of skeleton leaves. He had a sword tied about his waist, and he held a pan flute. He held a finger to his lips mischievously.

She stood up, almost afraid to believe what was happening.

The shadow danced about her, leaping and flying and soaring, and slowly, Cara began to smile.

And then she laughed, surprising _herself_ , and wiped away her tears, chasing the shadow about the room. Her sadness was replaced by a joy so incomparable that it is impossible to describe, no matter how many lovely words I use.

Suddenly, the shadow flew to her desk, seemingly perched on the shadow of her chair, and her pencil began to write of its own accord upon her paper.

Gasping, she ran towards it, drinking in the marvelous sight.

" _Do not cry,_ " said the writing in beautifully messy script.

" _For I give you the power of youth, the power of truth. Fight, fight! For the day is almost done, and a new morning has broken. My name is Peter Pan, and I promise you that you will never again fight alone._ "


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: AGH I WANT TO GO TO NEVERLAND. For full experience, listen to the Peter Pan 2003 _Flying_ piano cover by Luke Walsh. Now _this_ you can do. It doesn't even have any lyrics.**

 **Review! I COMMAND YOU! Oh, and comment your favorite song I've suggested so far. Maybe send me some Peter-Pan-y/Neverland-y ones I've never heard before. Really. That'd be amazing.**

* * *

 _Run, run lost boy_

 _They say to me_

 _Away from all of reality_

 _Neverland is home to lost boys like me_

 _And lost boys like me are free_

* * *

"You are a young woman now, Cara, and the silly belief in a flying boy should be beyond you."

"I'm no young woman, Miss Leanne," replied Cara, smiling. "I am but a young _girl_. You are only as old as you make it." she grinned teasingly in the other woman's direction. Miss Leanne's mouth tightened.

"You are fifteen years of age. Practically ready to be married!" said Miss Leanne through her teeth. "Not a-a— _lost girl_ , or whatever you call it."

"Lost _boy_ ," she corrected. "There aren't any _lost girls_. I would feel quite alone. There aren't many differences between girls and boys in Neverland either, we're all the same." said Cara thoughtfully.

"You are _fifteen_. Surely, at this age, this nonsense would sto—"

"And anyway, Peter looks at least sixteen." countered Cara. "Really, Miss Leanne, it shouldn't bother you so. My beliefs don't interfere with my studies."

"Looks? _Looks?_ " Miss Leanne rubbed her temples. "You don't mean to tell me that you've _seen_ Peter Pan!"

"Of course I have!" said Cara. "He _is_ real, Miss Leanne. How could he not? How could humans enjoy one perfect moment of youth _without_ Peter Pan?"

"This conversation is over." said Miss Leanne angrily. "You will _close your window_ , or there will be nothing for dinner tonight!"

A flash of anger appeared for a second in Cara's eyes; and then it was gone, as if it had never existed.

"Yes, Miss Leanne." she responded meekly, turning from the woman and hurrying upstairs.

Instead of going to her own room, however, she turned to her mother's.

Margaret Darling lay awake in bed, reading by lamplight. "Good evening, dear." she said tiredly when Cara came in the door. "I do hope you haven't been fighting with Miss Leanne."

Cara shrugged. "I tell her I'll do things, but I don't _actually_ do them. It's not like she notices, anyhow."

" _Cara_ ," her mother said in amusement. "What does she want you to do now?"

"She wants me to close The Window." replied Cara, her hands trembling with anger. "How _dare_ she?"

Her mother's smile faded.

"Cara... you don't _really_ still believe in him, do you?"

Cara felt shocked, as if her mother had hit her. "What? Of course I do, don't you? It's a Darling tradition!"

Her mother shook her head. "I-I'm afraid it's just a silly old tale," she said, smiling weakly. "Peter Pan is just a lovely fairy story, like Cinderella or Snow White."

"Except he's not," said Cara, trying to keep her temper in check. "He's real, Mother, I've seen him! He wrote me once, long ago—"

"Cara—"

"—I can show you his handwriting, really, look—"

" _Cara_ —"

"—he wears skeleton leaves, just like you said—"

" _Cara!_ " her mother shouted, suddenly.

Cara stopped midsentence, staring at her mother, wide-eyed.

"It's only a story." said Margaret Darling, deadly calm. "Only a story. Now, I think it is time for you to _grow up_. Close the window, Cara."

Cara felt as if her mother had betrayed her. "But Mother, I _can't—_ "

"You will." said her mother quietly. "You will, or I will close it for you. And lock it."

There was a long silence.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Cara pleaded.

Her mother was quiet for a long time.

"Peter Pan isn't real, Cara. I can't let you keep living a lie."

Cara shook her head, her breathing as erratic as her sick mother's. Cara closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Mum."

Her mother didn't reply, just closed her eyes.

Cara left.

She hurried into her own room, gently shutting the door behind her.

She didn't care if Miss Leanne didn't give her dinner, she wasn't hungry.

Ever since her mother had been sick, Miss Leanne thought it her duty to stay at their home and take care of them. Not because she was kind and helpful, but because she was selfish and wanted to sell the house once Margaret eventually died. Cara didn't believe in the idea of her mother's death, and plainly showed Miss Leanne that she didn't.

Every week, a doctor would come in to see how her mother was doing, since she didn't want to be moved to the hospital. Every week, her mother would get more and more tired, and more and more sad and emotional. She got angry at Cara all the time, and Miss Leanne, and the doctor. She seemed to relive all her worst moments in a second. Cara sometimes thought that if the doctor didn't come, and her mother spent more time out in the sunshine, she'd automatically get better.

Cara gazed at the open window, contemplating.

"Don't worry, Peter," she whispered, as if she and the sky had a big secret. "I won't close the window, never. I don't care what that old witch says. Or my mum."

No answer, as usual. But this time, it made her amused, instead of sad. "Goodnight, my dear Peter." she told the moonlight.

She changed quickly from her day clothes to her nightgown, taking a moment to read the old piece of paper tucked in the pocket. It was the note from Peter from long ago, the note that convinced her that she was not crazy, not insane. There _was_ a Peter Pan, and he thought she was brave.

As she tied her hair as she usually did, in two braids, she hummed. And soon she was singing an old song her mother used to sing to her, a song so sad and sweet and serene it pressed into the ears of its listeners and planted itself, growing a blue flower of Neverland. And that is how children know of the pirates and mermaids, because they have heard the true song, and they have believed.

Cara began to spin gently about her bedroom, lost in her own melody. And suddenly she stopped, for there it was. The shadow of Peter Pan.

She wished with all her heart that he would show himself in his own body, not just a figment of it. The form bowed, and offered his hand, as if asking for a dance.

Hesitantly, she put out her own hand, and as she watched in amazement, her shadow took the hand of his shadow. A warm shock ran up her wrist all the way to her shoulder, and trickled through her veins like gold. She smiled with delight, and when the shadow spun her, she felt as if she was really and truly looking into eyes like diamond and a smile that woke the morning.

And then there was music, music so beautiful there was none like it on earth, but seemed like something tangible from heaven. Music from a pan flute, floating from her rooftop down into her window.

Truly, if you have heard the fairy music, you will never forget it, and no other song will ever seem pleasing to you again.

It is the kind of music that fills you up with magic, coursing through your fingers and lighting up your smile. It lets you stretch out your hands and feel the music's _power_ , the power of joy, the power of wonder. A kind of power that makes you out to be invincible, for if you have this music, you are strong, and wild, and free. You are _invincible_.

And you will look up to the sky and see the music whirling up to brush against the moon, and you will _breathe_ , and you will _smile_.

And Cara smiled.

She smiled, and she tentatively reached out her arms and _flew._ She flew through the air, and joined in the empowering chorus of the music's strength.

And the tears on her heart, weathered by years of rain, got a taste of sunlight, and the tears turned to diamond, diamond so very like his eyes. She did not have to cry anymore, for she was invincible.

And suddenly she gasped, as if she had opened her eyes too quickly, and there was no one there. No music, no shadow. That couldn't be true— for her eyes had already been open, and she had _seen_ it.

But her heart was leaping, and she felt so _real_ , so _wholesome_ , that she could do nothing but stare into the infinite sea of stars and wonder what had happened. Her entire body tingled, as if she _had_ been flying, but it couldn't be—could it? Was flying possible?

She hadn't the slightest idea if she'd been dreaming while she was awake, her mind was in a completely different setting now, as if she'd seen through _his_ eyes, _his_ eyes which saw a year as a second, as every moment as one worth spending in joy and showering in freedom. Everything seemed to have been made of gold, and she had been so lost in _them_ , that she had completely forgotten everything that she had ever known.

She took a deep breath, her hair in disarray and her throat parched.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she climbed into bed, still feeling lighter than a feather. Her toes tingled, as if they knew they didn't belong on the ground anymore.

"Oh, Peter," she whispered in wonder, and lay down and closed her eyes. Soon, her breathing was even, and her dreams were even lovelier than usual. Nothing is lovelier than a dream after listening to the music of the fairies.

If she had stayed awake, she would have heard more, the warmest, sweetest sound the world had ever heard.

His laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Good chapter, good chapter. I'm proud of this one. Read on.**

* * *

 _He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe_

 _Believe in him and believe in me_

 _Together we will fly away in a cloud of green_

 _To our beautiful destiny_

* * *

Cara hummed as she worked, the fairy song swaying around in her mind like a willow tree in autumn.

"Hey, Darling," said someone, and Cara turned.

Usually, when a person called someone a 'darling', it was an endearment, unlike when people called Cara a Darling. When they said it, it was much more like an insult.

It was a boy, with dark hair and a nice smile. He didn't look mean enough to push her around, but Cara glared at him anyway. "What do you want?" she asked bitingly.

The boy held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing— I just wanted to take a look at that thing you're making. It's really interesting, it is."

Cara scrutinized his face to see if he was joking. Then she smiled, shrugged, and turned back to her work. It was a painting of the waves she saw in her dreams— Mermaid Lagoon.

"My name's Michael, anyhow." continued the boy. "I'm new here, are you?"

"No," Cara responded, not really paying attention. "I'm not new."  
"Ah." replied the boy, fidgeting awkwardly. "So, what is that? The painting?"

Cara put down her paintbrush, accidentally smudging some paint on her cheek. The boy's eyes were drawn toward it.

Cara examined the painting for a moment, looked at the boy, then shrugged again. "I don't know," she lied. "Just something I made up."

Michael looked at the painting. "It looks awfully realistic for something made up."

"I'm a good artist." Cara said, turning back to her work.

"I see that you are."

"Thank you."

Feeling as if the conversation had been closed, Michael left Cara's table and went to sit with some other boys in her school. Their artwork was nothing but a few splotches of paint on paper. He looked at her curiously, as if he really _did_ want to know what she was painting.

* * *

Cara unlocked the door of her house, since Miss Leanne believed in effective house security and not leaving the door open.

She dropped her bag by the entrance and hurried upstairs to visit her mother. When she opened the door, however, there was no one in the bed.

An instant cold feeling dropped from her mind to her stomach, like she'd drank ice water and it'd traveled up her bloodstream. She froze.

"Cara."

She whipped around, heart beating. "Is she alright?" she managed to get out.

Miss Leanne sighed. "Your mother is in the hospital." she said tightly. "I'm leaving to visit her now, but you will stay home."

"No, I want to come too—"

" _Cara_." Miss Leanne said sharply. "You will stay home. I am the mistress of this household."

Cara glared at her. "You were never the _mistress_ , this is _my_ house. And I say that I will come with you. I want to see my mother."

Miss Leanne looked as if she wanted to hit Cara. "Your mother is leaving the house to _me_." she said through her teeth. "This house belongs to you no more than it does to your neighbors."

Cara stood her ground, looking Miss Leanne straight in the face. "She is my mother." she said.

"She has given me strict orders not to bring you."

Cara felt as if she'd been slapped. "Wha—why?"

"I wouldn't know." snapped Miss Leanne. "Stay in your room. Maybe Peter Pan will talk to you."

With that, she turned around and left.

Cara stood, frozen, surrounded by the scent of her mother's gentle perfume.

"Why does everyone hate me so?" she wondered aloud, and left the room.

* * *

She sat on her own bed, staring out the window she'd stared out of so many times.

She thought about her mother's disease, and how she was in the hospital and didn't want to see her. She wished Peter Pan would visit her mother, if only to cure her of her sadness and make her believe. She'd almost rather he visit her mother than her.

She walked to the window, and instead of looking up at the sky, she looked upon the ground. The people and cars were far from her eyes, almost _too_ far. It really was a large house, she mused.

She pulled the chair from her desk to in front of the window, and sat upon it, cross-legged like an Indian girl from a Neverland tribe.

And she waited for the night, her eyes closed, humming the song of the fairies.

When she opened her eyes, her ears were filled with fairy song. She smiled and stood, looking out the window, outwards and up. "Peter," she called out softly. "Peter, you're there, I know you are."

The pan flute sang cheerfully.

"I have a favor to ask of you, my dear Peter." she said, sitting back on her chair. "My mother is dying, the daughter of Jane, you remember her?" Then she laughed, almost bitterly. "Oh, of course you don't remember her. But Jane remembered you, always. Anyways, could you visit my mother in the hospital? I want her to believe in you, just as I do. Just as all the Darling women do. I believe she'd get better."

The pan flute carried on merrily.

"Please?" begged Cara.

Something flew out of the night and hit Cara straight in the forehead. "Ow!" she cried out, rubbing her forehead. "What on earth—"

She picked up an acorn off the floor. "What's this supposed to mean?" she called out, holding up the acorn. Something plucked the acorn from her fingers and she gasped.

Suddenly, the acorn was unfurling, and it was an acorn no more, but a pouch!

Cara cupped her hands in wonder, and the pouch dropped into her fingers. She undid the twine holding it together, and in her hands held a bag of glittering dust, and a note.

She plucked out the note, and read it.

 _Sprinkle some of this dust in your mother's room, and she will believe_.

She gazed at Peter's handwriting, and wondered.

"Thank you," she said softly, almost in confusion.

And so she waited.

* * *

When her mother finally returned from the hospital, it was late at night.

Cara lay awake in bed, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what it would be like to fly up and touch it with her fingertips.

When she heard her mother coughing, she sat up, and grabbed the pouch by the side of her bed. She hurried into her mother's room.

Margaret Darling was drinking a glass of water when she saw Cara come in. Her eyes softened. "Why are you up so late, my dear one?"

"Why didn't you want me to come to the hospital?" Cara blurted out.  
Margaret looked at her daughter sadly. "The hospital is no place for a girl. Maybe, when you're a woman, I'll allow you to come. Only women have a strong enough heart."

"I'll never be a woman." said Cara stoutly. "I'll always be a girl, forever. And I'll still have a strong heart."

Margaret sighed. "Cara, not this again—"

But she never finished her sentence, for Cara had opened up her pouch and had flung the dust into the air, where it glittered like tiny shards of diamond.

Margaret stared at it as if it was some kind of disease. " _What_ —is that?" she said, covering her mouth. "You know how dust affects my lungs, Cara!"

"Wait." said Cara, staring up at it, and she believed. She believed so strongly that the dust sensed it, and it started glittering unnaturally.

"Cara, where did you get that?" said Margaret, a little apprehensively.

Cara faced her mother, her eyes blazing. "I got it from Peter Pan, and you'll never forget it."

And at that moment, the dust burst, exploding into a million colors, and there were pictures. Pictures so incredible that they are impossible to describe; like Neverland flowers and white sand, like the bluest ocean and a shining ship upon it, like a tree with curled branches and emerald leaves stretching itself to heaven, and a light, a light so wonderful there was none like it on earth.

And then there were more pictures, pictures that Cara could not understand. Of her mother standing next to a man with hair like hers, of her mother standing by the window in Cara's room and looking earnestly up at the sky, of joy and laughter and youth. And Cara felt it in her heart and soul, in her hands and feet. It was a feeling that her mind would never forget, and would yearn for for the rest of her life.

And the dust dispersed, forming a glittering trail of a brilliant color Cara had never seen, and swirling about her mother, pushing through her hair and curling about her shoulders, wreathing her in youth. Cara had never thought her mother looked so pretty.

Margaret had her eyes closed, and her palms facing upwards, and she was whispering under her breath and swaying, and Cara stood, mesmerized.

The dust exploded for the last time, and faded out through Margaret's open window.

Her mother opened her eyes, her eyes filled with fire and a health that Cara had never seen resting upon her shoulders.

Her mother sat up, and got out of bed. She stretched out her arm, staring at it in amazement. She walked, and looked down in wonder.

She looked at Cara in awe. "I believe you." she whispered finally. "Oh, Cara, I believe you."

She took Cara's arms and stared into her daughter's face, as if she'd never seen anything so beautiful. "You are my light, my joy, I live for you. But I must go now, I cannot stay. Your father, he waits for me, but I will not have you cry. Promise me. You will not cry."

Cara stared, eyes wide, at her mother. "I-I—"

"Promise me."

Cara swallowed. "I-I promise you."

Her mother smiled, and not even the blanketed darkness could dampen that light. It shone through her eyes and hands and her mother's skin glowed with health and joy.

"Goodbye, my love. My darling."

"But where are you going?" Cara blurted out desperately.

Her mother smiled again. "Somewhere, a place that your heart may know too. A good somewhere."

"Take me with you!" Cara said, stumbling forward, her eyes wild. "Don't leave me here. I will be alone."

Her mother laughed, a wondrous, joyous laugh. "My dear Cara, you are never alone! Don't you know who sits by your windowsill and plays the pan flute?"

Her mother took a step back, letting go of Cara. Cara fought the urge to grab her mother's hands, to stop her from leaving her.

"Never stop believing." whispered her mother earnestly, and smiled again, a soft smile, a mother's smile.

She raised her arms, and the wind swirled all around them, dancing through her hair and eyes. It spun faster and faster, and soon, there was nothing left of her mother except a carpet of rose petals, so soft and sweet-smelling that Cara almost forgot about her mother herself. She reached down and picked one up, and put it in her pocket. The other petals were gently carried out the window by the wind.

The night was clear, and Cara did not cry.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Heyyy! If you're wondering why I update the entire story at once, it's because I have serious commitment issues and write the entire story before posting it, so I _know_ I'll finish it. I hate it when I never get to finish a super awesome fanfic because the author didn't update. *pokes like seven fanfic authors* Read on!**

 **Also, could you guys please review? That'd be nice.**

* * *

 _As we soared above the town that never loved me_

 _I realized I finally had a family_

 _Soon enough we reached Neverland_

 _Peacefully my feet hit the sand._

* * *

Cara Darling had grown up, no matter how much she did not want to.

Of all the ways to grow up, she had a fairly nice one. A man named Michael Carpenter, who had always been interested in her, had wanted to marry her. He was part of a rich family, and thus came with a comfortable lifestyle, and Miss Leanne deemed it good. So they were married.

Michael liked Cara's home very much; so they didn't move into his. He sold his old house and got a lot of money for it, money that he used to repair their new house, to fix the crumbling and to repaint the walls.

Because of their immense wealth, Cara had no need to work. She was the housewife, supposed to be gossiping with the other rich, lovely ladies down the street while the servants cooked dinner and did the laundry. She didn't do that.

Instead, she would go down to the forest. She loved walking through the trails and enjoying the scenery, the way the light played off the edge of a green leaf and turned it gold.

It was a nice time to be alone, too.

She walked through the trees, in the most peaceful of trances. It came over her much more than before, a music more beautiful than the sun, would fill her mind, and she'd get lost in it.

She gazed upon the trees and flowers, and she was so gentle and lovely that the animals were not afraid of her. Birds and rabbits watched her from afar; as she slowly traipsed through the woodland.

She turned about a bend, and watched a roaring river of ice blue tumble off a waterfall, gathering foam and lilies and filled the mind with the strongest feeling of quiet power.

The music grew ever louder in Cara's head and she closed her eyes and smiled, paying no attention to where she was going.

 _Come away with me..._

Cara spun into the green-gold light of the sun, raising her arms.

 _Come away with me..._

Cara stumbled through the underbrush, opening her eyes with delight, and she began to run through the trails, crashing through the leaves, following a voice that sang in her mind and played a pan flute.

 _Come away with me..._

So she ran, laughing and listening all the while to the sound of his flute, the sweetest notes that trilled through the trees and made the birds soar into the bluest sky.

 _Come away with me..._

And she stopped, standing over the edge of a cliff, her heart pounding.

Trembling, she took a step backward, looking outward.

The clouds gathered in the sky, opening a portal for the most infinite ocean. Cara stared into it, her heart filled with such a longing that it soothed even the fairy music strung on her soul.

 _Come away with me..._

Cara looked down at the city below her, a place of people and bustling and bread and good smells, and as her heart slowly broke, she turned and walked away.

And again, she was immersed into the forest.

* * *

Cara never slept in the same bedroom as her husband, much to her husband's dismay and sorrow. She told him that she could only sleep in her own bedroom, _alone_.

Cara was working on fighting back the music, for she wanted, for once, to be _normal_ , to be a normal, loving wife. Maybe a mother. Maybe she could continue the Darling line.

But she _couldn't_ , no matter how much she tried.

For she had fallen in love with someone she had never seen, had become transfixed by the sky. She could not leave her window.

She could never shake the image of dancing with his shadow, of her mother turning into a pillar of rose petals. No one ever thought twice of her mother again.

She looked longingly up at the sky. She couldn't even sleep anymore.

" _We could sail away tonight_ ," she whispered. " _On a sea of pure moonlight_."

The music tugged at her mind insistently, and finally, she let go of herself, and allowed herself to get lost.

It swam through her ears and heart, and the wind blew in from the window and surrounded her in starlight. It reverberated against the walls of her room and exploded in her eyes like fireworks.

And she closed her eyes and spun and danced for the night, and the fairies clapped their hands and she laughed and did not think twice in her joy.

The door was thrown open and she still swayed.

The pair standing before the door looked shocked.

"She's mad," whispered Michael's mother fearfully, and her husband looked just as horrified. "Lock the room," he told his wife. "We can't have her embarrass the family."

And Cara collapsed.

* * *

Cara opened her eyes, laying upon a bed of skeleton leaves, a blanket of flower petals covering her body. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering how on earth she had gotten on the ground.

Getting up and yawning, she stood, stretched, and walked over to the door. When she turned the doorknob, however, it did not budge.

Fear flooded her mind.

She banged insistently on the door, and she thought she heard a shriek from the opposite side.

"Let me out!" she demanded.

"The madwoman's awake, she's awake!" shrieked the same voice she had heard before. Cara's eyes widened. Her mother-in-law?

"Stay inside!" barked another voice, her father-in-law. "Stay where you are, I'm not afraid to shoot!"

"Shoot?" Cara asked in disbelief. "Where's Michael?"

"He's safe!" sobbed her mother-in-law. "He doesn't want to stay with you anymore!"

Cara shook her head, feeling all the more confused. "Wha—why? What on earth have I done?"

"You're insane, you're crazy! You talk to fairies and dance at night. You leave during the day and only come back in evening, we don't know what you do! You _witch!_ "

Cara felt as if she had been struck across the face. She was silent.

"Don't try to escape, or the police will have you!"

Cara did not reply. She slid down to her knees and leaned her head against the door. Her room, once her only safe place, was now her prison.

She hugged her knees and wept.

She wept until she had no more tears left, and when there were no tears left, she went to stand by the window. He, the cause of her pain, he the light of her bleak darkness, was not there, nor was he ever there.

"Peter, am I too old to fly?" cried Cara. "Will you still take me, when I am no longer young?"

There was no answer, but Cara had not expected one.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: LAST CHAPTER NO WHYYYYY I really loved writing this story. I really did. I'm gonna miss it.**

 **Also, I wonder if my author's notes really kill the poetic, lyrical, depressingly wistful vibe of this story. Maybe I shouldn't even write these. OHMYGOD MAYBE I SHOULDN'T EVEN WRITE THESE**

 **Okay. Go on. For full experience, read while listening to either A. the piano cover by Luke Walsh I told you about earlier, or B. Neverland, by Zendaya. Cara writes a poem in this from the song Peter Pan by Nicole Zefanya.**

 **I love you guys!**

* * *

 _Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, Wendy Darling_

 _Even Captain Hook, you are my perfect storybook_

 _Neverland I love you so_

 _You are now my home sweet home_

 _Forever a lost boy at last_

* * *

Cara rocked back and forth on the old rocking chair, the chair that had started her story, the chair that had belonged to her grandmother.

Now she too, was old and weathered, with silver curls and wrinkles near her eyes. Her hands, once soft and light, were now gnarled and weak.

Peacefully, she rocked.

She and her husband had become divorced a long while ago, and he forgave her. He had never really resented or hated her; but he understood, and they were friends. He remarried, and had a family, but Cara sat alone, with no one but the moonlight as company.

She spent her days in front of the window, dreaming away her life. She wrote stories and sold them, and the people were amazed at the sincerity in which she wrote her adventures, as if they really _had_ happened. They were all about one certain flying boy, with an uncanny ability to forget.

She was old, she knew. She had grown up, she knew. But she had never stopped believing in Peter, believing in the kind of hope that never died, believing in an innocence that thrived through her house and danced in her corridors. The hope that would die with her, the last of the Wendy Darling line.

She had a paper in front of her, on which she was writing. Probably her last work of her life, she knew. She neared death, and she accepted it into her gnarled fingers.

 _In the Neverland sun_

 _I'll sleep safe and sound in the arms of my Peter Pan._

Contentedly, she closed her eyes and tried to forget, just as he did. Unknowingly, she began to hum the old fairy song, her voice sounding strong, not old. Not ready for death.

 _I'll sleep safe and sound in the arms of my Peter Pan..._

She sighed and opened her eyes.

And there, before her, stood the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

It was a boy, a boy with gold hair and brilliantly colored eyes, a boy with a smile that awakened the sun, a boy with radiance that outshone every diamond. He was as old as a boy is when youth is loveliest; and he wore a crown of stars. His clothes were of skeleton leaves, and in his wake trailed music, fairy music, the prettiest she'd ever heard. There was no way to describe him, because his beauty was far beyond the minds of mere humans. Cara did not think she looked upon a mortal, but an angel.

He crowed joyfully, and swooped about the room, and Cara no longer felt old.

"Cara," he said, his voice like birdsong. "You believed."

"You remembered." whispered Cara back, staring at him wide-eyed, wanting to take in his whole image and burn it into her brain.

He smiled, and took her hand. Cara expected him to be repulsed at her age, but he did not seem so, not in the slightest. He helped her up, and Cara's knees and back screamed in pain, in weakness, but Peter's light chased them away.

"Now," said Peter, that glorious boy. "There is a place far away, so far off that you can stay young forever. It is called Neverland."

"I've heard of it." Cara managed to get out.

Peter laughed gaily, and the night sky brightened at the sound.

"In Neverland, there is no such thing as _boys and girls_. In Neverland, we are all the same!" Peter smiled at her again, and Cara's heart turned pure gold.

"Which would mean, _you_ would become a lost boy. Isn't that fine?"

Cara shook her head in amazement, unable to comprehend what exactly he was saying. "Peter, I am so old, I cannot fly. I will never get this aged soul off the ground."

Peter threw back his head and laughed a laugh of pure joy. "Cara, age has nothing to do with it. It is the belief that matters, the belief that resonates the heartbeat of a child, of the innocence, of the wonder."

"Do I have any left?" Cara whispered.

"Why, of course you do!" Peter told her. "I wouldn't be here otherwise!"

With that, he snapped his fingers, and a lovely creature flew in from the window. It was a fairy, who jingled like bells when she spoke. "Tinkerbell?" Cara whispered hoarsely, her head spinning.

Tinkerbell danced about her, blowing a kiss, and flew round her head, exactly seven times.

The dust fell from the fairy's wings into Cara's hair, and a lovely sensation gripped the old woman, and she grasped the side of the rocking chair.

A growing happiness rushed through her blood, to her brain, to her heart. It filled her senses with the purest thoughts, thoughts she'd never even thought before. And strongest of all was the music of the pan flute, as it flew about her like a bird learning to fly.

When the sensation passed, she was fairly different than she had been a few moments ago.

Her hair was the prettiest it had ever been, long and dark and curly, and her skin was soft and glowed with health and youth. She wore a crown of flowers, and the softest pink nightgown.

She was young.

She was young, and she was strong. She was happier than she had ever been in her life, and she opened her eyes.

Peter stood before her, one foot on the windowsill, with the most serious expression.

He held out his hand.

" _Come away with me_."

It felt as if the sun and moon and stars had collided, creating in Cara the most incredible eruption, but she was safe from it all, as she flew to Neverland with a boy who'd never grow up.

She took his hand.

"Yes," she breathed, and her feet lifted off the ground.

From that point on, Cara's thoughts are impossible to write. They were so lovely and beautiful that it is fairly impossible to put them into mere human language. She had started to think like _him_ , and everything was as it was on the night she danced with Peter Pan, long, long ago.

Peter let go of her hand and crowed, and Cara laughed with delight, and Tinkerbell danced around them, an infinite dance of wonder.

And the three soared into space, and the night was still.

 _The End._

* * *

 _He came to me with the sweetest smile_

 _Told me he wanted to talk for a while_

 _He said_

 _Peter Pan_

 _That's what they call me_

 _I promise that you'll never be lonely..._


End file.
